Breathless
by Audrey Lynne
Summary: "Tick-tock," the note said.  All the warning they had.  As Tony recovers from a devestating injury, Gibbs devotes himself to finding the man responsible, and Ziva comes to terms with Tony's sacrifice.  Strong Tiva friendship.  Now complete!
1. Tick Tock

"Report suspicious people." Anthony DiNozzo chuckled softly. "You remember those signs, Ziva? No, of course you don't. Wait, don't they have them plastered _all over_ Israel?"

Ziva David scoffed. "We lived at a heightened state of alert. Sometimes, it was not perfect, but if you knew how many incidents had been prevented, you might never sleep again."

Tony flashed her a cheesy smile. "Aren't you glad you work for NCIS now? It's got to be _so_ much less stressful."

Ziva was glad, but she wasn't about to throw Tony a bone. "The stress level is debatable."

Tony opened his mouth, but then closed it again as he turned a corner and held up a hand. He pointed ahead. Ziva sidled closer behind him, looking around.

They had been searching the town of Landmark, Virginia fruitlessly for the past several hours, looking for their main suspect in the death of two Marines. All records indicated that Dmitri Petrov – also a leader in the DC area's Russian Mafia – had fled back to his hometown. The only lead in town, however, had brought them to a bank building that had closed several months back. Ziva and Tony had searched the building thoroughly with no success, but it looked like their re-sweep of the first floor might have been a good idea.

"I thought I saw somebody," Tony whispered, then stepped out into the open, swinging his weapon out in front of him. "NCIS!"

Nobody answered the call, but there was a note dangling from a painting near one of the four glass walls, probably the same type Petrov was famous for leaving those who pursued him in DC. They were all written in Russian, with an English translation below. Ziva had always wondered why he bothered to repeat himself, but she had never entirely understood those who insisted on taunting law enforcement, daring to be caught. It only made it worse on them when they were apprehended – and, eventually, all of them were.

Ziva scanned the room again before joining Tony, not putting her weapon away just yet. "What's this one say?"

"'Tick-tock,'" Tony read. "That's all."

Ziva was not going to be the least bit gentle with Petrov when they caught him. The infuriating notes, the evidence he left that rarely panned out...he was good. But Ziva knew that NCIS was better. They'd find him. "What, does he want us to search that antique clock shop across the street next?"

"Clocks," Tony mused. "Time...countdowns..."

"Bombs," Ziva added, hoping she was wrong.

Tony didn't say anything, but his expression told Ziva she wasn't alone in her thought. He edged over to a corner behind a dusty desk, and tugged gently at a pile of furniture blankets. "Shit. Why can't we ever be wrong?"

Ziva only had time to peek before Tony grabbed her arm and started to run. There was indeed a bomb, and it had seconds left on the countdown. They had just cleared the main door – fortunately, unlocked, since it was the same one they'd had to pick the lock of to get in – when Tony pulled Ziva's arm, pushing her out in front of him, and tackled her, covering her with his body, just in time for the world to explode around them. Glass rained down upon them, a stray shard cutting Ziva's arm, and she felt the heat. Ziva never thought she'd be thankful for anything about a bomb, but she was glad that Petrov hadn't used a larger one. They'd never have been able to clear the blast radius in time.

Ziva waited until the glass had stopped falling before trying to move. "Tony? Are you all right?" She was torn between thanking him and lighting into him for putting himself at further risk for her. She supposed she could always do both. "Tony?"

When he again didn't respond, Ziva wriggled free of Tony's weight on top of her, and quickly assessed him. She didn't see any obvious injuries to his back, so she gently rolled him over, and gasped. He was unconscious, obviously struggling to breathe – likely due to the two larger pieces of glass that had lodged in the side of his neck. There was remarkably little blood, and Ziva knew better than to pull the glass out. She fumbled for her cell phone, quickly dialing 911, and hoping the small town's emergency services wouldn't take too long.


	2. The Waiting Game

The town of Landmark might as well have been called "The Middle of Nowhere," for all their medical system had to offer. The town's EMTs had arrived quickly and done their jobs well, but it was only a basic ambulance. The hospital's ER was barely more than an urgent care center. It felt to Ziva as if Petrov had been trying to make sure that if they survived the bomb, the wait for treatment would have killed them.

Ziva was impatiently waiting for an intern to arrive to stitch up the cut on her arm – that, they could do, and they insisted on keeping Ziva locked up in an exam room until it was done. All she knew about Tony's condition so far was that based on initial scans, the surgery he needed was too complicated to do it at Landmark Hospital. The plan was to transfer him to the trauma center in Fairfax, but that was a two-hour drive. Tony didn't have that long, so a medivac helicopter had been called. Ziva wanted to see Tony again before the helicopter left. If he was still aware of anything, she wanted him to know that she hadn't left him intentionally.

Tony had regained consciousness on the way to the hospital, but he was confused, trying to grab at the glass in his neck and pull it out himself. That would have been disastrous, so Ziva had taken hold of his hands and held them herself so that the EMTs could work. He had fought her for a few minutes – and he was strong – but eventually Ziva had been able to calm him down. The small victory made it that much harder to let the ER staff take Tony away when they arrived.

The hospital staff had seen the blood soaking Ziva's sleeve and insisted upon stitching her up right away. She had tried to argue that they could do that just as well and let her stay with Tony, but no one seemed to think that was a good idea except her. They told her that he had been sedated, and he probably wouldn't even know she was there, but Ziva knew they were wrong. Tony had crossed continents to save her. He had thrown himself over her to protect her – and this wasn't the first time, but it was the first time it had ended so badly.

Ziva's patience had long since run out by the time the intern was finished putting the four required stitches in her arm, and she was out the door and to the main desk within seconds. Apparently, she had earned herself a reputation already, because the receptionist at the desk smiled and nodded toward a row of uncomfortable-looking chairs. "If you'd just have a seat, we'll let you know as soon as the medivac arrives for your partner."

"When will I be able to see him?" Ziva asked.

"It'll take the flight medics a few minutes to get downstairs after they land," the receptionist said.

"So why is it that I cannot see him now?" Ziva demanded. "The nurse before told me that there is nothing they can do here but keep him stable and sedated."

The receptionist shrugged. "I'm sorry, ma'am, it's hospital policy."

"Your policy stinks," Ziva growled before stalking over to the chairs. She sat down, then bounced right back up, heading back to the desk. She didn't expect to hear anything she'd like. "I already know there will be no room for me in the helicopter. The car I came down in has been confiscated as part of a crime scene." She'd already called to check on that, right after she had called NCIS to let them know what was going on. No one seemed to know where Gibbs was at the moment – not that this was cause for concern – but after a few minutes, the agent who answered the phone had managed to get Timothy McGee on the line. He had been a little shaken by the news, judging by his voice, but he had carried on, promising to get in touch with Ziva as soon as he talked to Gibbs. She had arranged for an NCIS courier to come pick her up and take her to Fairfax, but a two-hour drive was a two-hour drive. It still meant it would be hours before she got to the hospital once Tony had been transferred.

"Do you need me to call a cab for you?" the receptionist offered, a little too helpfully.

"No." Ziva crossed her arms. "I need to see my partner. That is all."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but-" The receptionist broke off as the phone rang. "Hang on one second. That's an internal call."

Ziva wanted to snap that she had been hanging on for quite some time now, but she gestured impatiently toward the phone instead. It might have been useful news.

"All right. Thank you." The receptionist smiled at Ziva. "That's the medics. They just landed. Did you want to-"

Ziva didn't wait for her to finish the question; it was a question that didn't need asking. "Yes. I will see him now."

The receptionist got up and led Ziva back to Tony's room. He was awake, but heavily sedated; it took a minute for his eyes to trail over to Ziva when she touched his arm. He was on an oxygen mask, but still struggling for breath, and Ziva knew he needed to be somewhere he could be properly treated soon. She feared for what the delay had done to him already. "I would have seen you sooner, but hospital policy has been particularly difficult." She felt the need to justify her absence. "We will be out of this backwards place soon."

Within the next few minutes, the flight medics came in, and switched Tony to all of their equipment so he could be properly monitored for the journey. Ziva forced herself to smile for Tony's benefit. "Have a good flight." It was the corny sort of thing she thought he might have told her, struggling to keep things light.

One of the medics smiled at her. "We'll take good care of him."

"Thank you." Ziva looked back at Tony. "I _will_ see you again." She might have been the one making the promise, but she was going to hold him to it. She grabbed at her Star of David necklace as she walked out of the room, whispering a Hebrew prayer for the sick. She might not have been particularly observant, but Ziva was willing to do anything that might help.

When Agent Harris arrived an hour later to take Ziva to Fairfax, he used the excuse that Ziva had lost a lot of blood as the reason she shouldn't drive. Privately, Ziva suspected word about her driving habits had gotten around. It was silly, really. Americans didn't know what crazy driving really was.


	3. The Calvary Assembles

Tim McGee could hear the music from down the hall as he approached Forensics. The choice of music suggested that their lab technician was in a particularly good mood, and he hated to be the one to ruin it. Tim knocked on the door, though he was sure it wouldn't be heard above the chorus of "We Built This City." "Abby?"

Abby Sciuto turned on one foot, grinning and waving as she saw Tim. "Hey, McGee. What's up?"

Tim signaled for her to turn down the music. "We need to talk."

Abby hit a button on the stereo remote and the music stopped. "Whoa, you look serious. What's wrong?"

"Do you have any idea where Gibbs is?" Tim asked.

Abby shook her head. "He left out of here saying something about following up on a lead, but that was a few hours ago. Did you try his cell?"

"Yeah," McGee said, "but he's not picking up."

Abby sighed. "I've been trying to talk him into a GPS tracker for years, but he always says no." She frowned and fixed Tim with a stare. "What's wrong?"

There was no easy way for Tim to deliver bad news, so he figured it was best to be direct. "I got a call from Ziva. Petrov planted a bomb. They didn't have time to defuse it."

Abby gasped, a hand going to her mouth. "Oh, no! Are Ziva and Tony okay?"

"Ziva says she is." Tim put a hand on Abby's arm. "They're airlifting Tony to Fairfax. He needs a trauma surgeon."

"Oh, _Tony_," Abby sighed, reaching up to cover Tim's hand with hers. After a moment, she looked up, her expression determined. "He's going to be okay. He has to be."

Tim nodded. He'd been telling himself the same thing since he talked to Ziva. "Agent Harris left for Landmark to pick up Ziva. I'm heading to the hospital."

"I'll go with you." Abby headed for her office, hung up her lab coat, and materialized again at Tim's side. "I'd ask if you left a message for Gibbs, but I don't think he actually checks his voicemail unless he's waiting to hear from somebody."

"I left a message anyway," Tim told her. "I didn't say much – told him to call me."

"Good idea." Abby started toward the door. "Let's go. I know we won't be able to see him right away, but Tony shouldn't be alone. Ziva's got to be a wreck. They fight like little kids, but they're close."

Abby certainly wasn't telling Tim anything he didn't already know. He sat back and let himself be entertained when Tony and Ziva were going at it, but he knew they would do just about anything for each other. "She wasn't happy when I talked to her. They wouldn't let her see him."

"Uh-oh." Abby pushed the elevator button, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "We need Gibbs. He's listed as Tony's next of kin. He'll be able to get us access."

The elevator dinged. Tim and Abby stepped forward as the doors started to open, she seeming to be as anxious to get going as he was, but they paused when the very man they were looking for stepped out.

"Boss!" Tim exclaimed at the same time Abby called Gibbs' name.

"Where have you been?" Abby asked.

"I told you, following a lead." Gibbs looked from Tim to Abby and back again. "What's going on?"

There was no beating around the bush with Gibbs. Not if one wanted to survive intact. "Petrov led Tony and Ziva to a bomb. Agent Harris went to get Ziva."

"And DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, though the way he set his jaw made Tim sure Gibbs suspected Tony was hurt badly.

"He's been medivac'ed to the trauma center in Fairfax." Tim didn't follow Gibbs into the elevator so much as he was pulled by one arm. Abby quickly trotted along behind them. "I don't know all the details. Ziva said he had glass in his neck. We tried to call your cell."

Gibbs shook his head. "It fell in the Potomac. Don't ask."

Tim hadn't been planning to even before Gibbs issued the warning. "We were going to the hospital-"

"And that's still where we're going," Gibbs said. "We're going to see how Tony is, and then we're going to put Petrov in autopsy where he belongs."


	4. Waiting, Hoping

_DiNozzo, party of five_, Tim thought to himself with a sigh as he looked around the surgical waiting area. Most surgeries were scheduled in the mornings, so the only people around were those waiting on those in unscheduled surgery. There had been a lady there when Tim, Abby, and Gibbs had first arrived, but by the time Agent Harris got Ziva to the hospital, that lady had left with a nurse. Ducky had come as soon as he finished the autopsy he'd been elbow-deep in when they'd received the call. Now he waited anxiously with everyone else for further news.

Even as he watched for something similar, Tim knew the doctor in bloody scrubs reporting immediately from the operating room was more stereotype than anything, that most doctors bothered to clean up before seeing the family – or, in Tony's case, extended family. There wasn't any other way to describe the bond Gibbs and his team, Abby, and Ducky had. If Tim had ever thought twice about that, all doubt vanished after the visit from Kate's sister Rachel. The memories of Kate she prodded from each of them – except Ziva, of course, who never had the chance to meet Kate – were like those of a cherished sister or relative.

A petite woman in standard-issue hospital scrubs came into the waiting room and glanced around. The entire group rose as one, and Tim heard Abby draw in a sharp breath. He was holding his. Tony had been in surgery for what seemed like forever, over two hours. The woman consulted her clipboard. "Anthony Di...Nozzo?"

Gibbs stepped forward. "I'm his emergency contact."

The woman looked to her clipboard. "Ah, yes, Mr. Gibbs." She spoke with a Eastern European accent. "I'm Dr. Jasna. I have been assisting Dr. Jacoby with the surgery. So far, we have been operating under emergency consent, but we need authorization from the family or next of kin."

"His father is unavailable," Gibbs said, and his face betrayed nothing to an outsider but to those who knew him it spoke volumes. "I'm listed as his next of kin. How is he?"

"Fortunately, both pieces of glass that penetrated his neck missed the major blood vessels," Dr. Jasna said, "though they nicked a few smaller ones. We were able to control the bleeding, but the most severe damage was to the soft tissues of the neck and the trachea."

"It cut his trachea?" Gibbs asked. The tone would have been full of dread if it had been anyone else. Gibbs managed to stay cool and calm as ever, but his concern was obvious.

"Yes," Dr. Jasna confirmed. "We have repaired as much of the damage as is possible at this time, but this is a very serious injury. With the inflammation resulting to the airway, it is impossible for him to breathe normally. Dr. Jacoby recommends a tracheostomy, and I concur."

"A trach?" Gibbs echoed. "You're going to cut another hole in his neck? Isn't that a bit extreme?"

Jasna smiled. "You're not the first family member to feel that way. I assure you, the procedure is quick and very safe. The damage to the trachea is above the cricoid cartilage, where we would be placing the tracheostomy. This will allow him to breathe freely, and on his own – and it is not permanent. When his wounds are healed, the tube can be removed and the site will close. Without the procedure, we would have to place an endotracheal tube, through the mouth and down the trachea, and it would irritate the healing tissue. Also, based on bronchoscopy, Mr. DiNozzo is not a very good candidate for mechanical ventilation due to an excessive amount of scar tissue in his lungs. It would be very difficult to wean him from the ventilator once his lungs became used to it."

"Yeah, he had the plague several years ago," Gibbs told her, ignoring her look of complete incredulity. "Do what you have to do."

"Thank you." Dr. Jasna extended the clipboard, showing Gibbs where to sign, and he scribbled what was probably a mostly-legible version of his name. "I need to scrub back in, but I will update you as soon as Mr. DiNozzo is in our Post-Anesthesia Care Unit."

Ducky leaned over to Abby and Tim, telling them in a low tone, "That's today's fancy version of the recovery room."

They had all been close enough to hear, so Gibbs didn't bother recapping the update when he returned to the row of chairs just behind where he and Dr. Jasna had been talking. "He won't be thanking me when he wakes up, but at least he'll be alive to get all riled up."

"Right." Abby nodded. "And you heard the doctor. The trach is only temporary. And there's a lot of famous cool people who have them or had one at some point."

Ziva had been uncharacteristically quiet for most of the time since she'd arrived at the hospital, only speaking when spoken to, clasping her hands in her lap, and occasionally toying with her Star of David. She had changed from her blood-stained shirt to a hospital scrub top, but other than the occasional insistence that Tony had to be all right, the group hadn't heard much from her. Finally, she threw up her hands in front of her, full of pent up anxiety. "Why would he do that?"

To Tim, the answer was obvious. "He's your partner – and your friend."

"Yes," Ziva said, "of course. But he has risked himself before, despite the number of times I have pleaded with him not to. Why would he do that? For me?" For a second, she almost sounded like a lost little girl with the last question, but Tim was quick to chalk that up to his imagination.

It occurred to Tim that Ziva had been able to count on very few people in her life. Hell, even her own father had sent her off on a suicide mission. He struggled to find the right thing to say, finding it awkward to be at a loss for words when he was a writer.

As usual, Gibbs – a man of few words, but deep ones – summed it up nicely. "If the situation were reversed, would you have tackled him?"

Ziva didn't hesitate. "Well, of course, he is my partner, but-"

"But nothing," Gibbs insisted. "It's what McGee said, what you just said. If you weren't willing to take risks like that for each other, you wouldn't be on my team."

Ziva frowned. "But you yell at us when we take risks for you."

Gibbs shrugged. "That's because I'm the boss. I'm supposed to protect you, not the other way around. Got it?"

Ziva nodded, obviously still unhappy, but somewhat more relaxed than she had been. "Got it."

Ducky smiled, moving a couple of seats over to put a hand on Ziva's arm. She didn't shrug it off, which was fairly indicative of how she must have been feeling. "Good, because arguing with Jethro is going to get you nowhere. Besides, we need to be unified, more now than ever. Tony is going to need our strength."

Tim was sure of that. What he didn't know was how accepting of help Tony was going to allow himself to be.


	5. PACU, IV, NG  Alphabet Soup

Ziva was pacing the waiting room like a caged lion as the minutes ticked by, trying to physically work off her tightly wound emotions. Of course, since the hospital was a major medical center, it was a large waiting room. When Dr. Jasna returned, Ziva doubled back to listen to the news.

"The surgery was successful," the doctor was saying when Ziva rejoined the group. "We placed the trach without difficulty. Currently, he is still on the ventilator, but that's only until the anesthesia completely wears off. It's just a precaution. We'll remove the ventilator when he awakens. As I said before, we don't want to allow his lungs to get used to the machine's assistance."

"Can we see him?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, but he is in the Post-Anesthesia Care Unit – you may hear our staff refer to it as the PACU – so only two of you at a time, and we ask that you keep the visits brief. You'll be able to see more of him once he is in our Surgical Intensive Care Unit."

"How long will he be in intensive care?" Ziva asked.

"A day or two if all goes well," Dr. Jasna replied. "Then we'll move him to our stepdown medical-surgical unit."

"How long?" Gibbs asked.

"That would be up to his attending physician on the med-surg unit." The doctor smiled. "I know this may seem overwhelming now, but he has the potential for a full recovery. I feared the initial delay in treatment was going to be problematic, but the glass didn't shift from the point of entry at all, so in that sense he was very lucky. Millimeters more to either side and it could have cut the carotid artery or jugular vein."

Ziva had a sarcastic thought about how very grateful she was for that reminder of how close Tony had come to dying, but she kept it to herself. Dr. Jasna seemed to have genuinely good intentions, even with as hard as it was for Ziva to trust anybody. "Thank you, Doctor."

Ziva waited impatiently as the others thanked the doctor as well, then turned to her friends. "So, how are we going to do this?" She didn't mind waiting her turn as long as she got to see Tony. She'd promised him she would be back, and if there was anything Ziva hated, it was having to break a promise.

Abby was quick to volunteer a solution. "How about you go first, with Gibbs, Ziva? Then the rest of us can sort it out."

Ziva didn't want to be selfish, as she knew the team – and she absolutely considered Abby and Ducky part of the team – was worried about Tony as well. But, on the other hand, she _was_ the one who'd been in the explosion with Tony, who had seen him confused, terrified, and struggling to breathe, and she was perfectly content to bolt down the hallway and through the doors labeled "Post-Anesthesia Care Unit (PACU)." Well, perhaps not bolt. That would be undignified. A quick stride would do. "Is everyone okay with that?"

Gibbs shrugged. "I thought I'd wait for Ducky. I don't want to miss whatever story he's got in mind for this occasion. Guess that leaves you the odd man out, Ziva. Go on, go ahead."

Ziva knew when Gibbs was trying to be nice without admitting to it – she caught it most of the time, anyhow. She let him get away with his use of the word "man" for exactly that reason. Grace was called for in this situation. "Thank you. I will try not to be long."

"Take whatever you can get, until they kick you out," Gibbs said.

"Yeah, we'll wait," Abby assured Ziva.

Gibbs gave her a wry smile, but there was a warm look in his eyes. "If he gives you any trouble, let me know."

Ziva couldn't help a snicker at that – the first time she'd laughed since the explosion. "What, so you can slap him upside the head while he is in the hospital?"

"Very gently," Gibbs said, completely deadpan.

Ziva shook her head. "Thank you. I will return."

When she entered the PACU, Tony wasn't hard to spot. There were only two beds occupied, and the other was female. There were monitors everywhere, ventilator tubing hanging from the small tube in Tony's neck back to the machine, a dangling IV line – medical chaos, from Ziva's perspective. The trach wasn't as startling to Ziva as she'd thought it would be, mostly because the rest of Tony's neck was swollen and swathed in bandages. It didn't stick out. "Hello, Tony."

A nurse in pink scrubs drew near. "Hi, I'm Cathy, Mr. DiNozzo's nurse here in PACU."

"My name is Ziva. He is my partner."

"Romantic?" Cathy asked in a clarifying tone.

Ziva shook her head. "Oh, no. I would have done far worse damage than this to him by now." That was it, dark jokes, keep herself going.

Cathy's eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah, good old gallows humor. You must be police officers."

Ziva allowed herself a social smile. "Actually, we are federal agents, but, yes." She looked Tony over again, and noticed a small, thin tube that disappeared into his nose. "What is that?"

"It's a nasogastric tube, for feeding," Cathy explained. "Since he's not going to be able to swallow properly right away due to the swelling in his throat, that's how he'll be getting water and nutrition for a bit."

Ziva eyed the tube warily. "How long will he be affected by the anesthesia?"

"Probably another hour," Cathy said. "He'll be sleepy for at least a few hours after that, with the meds we're giving him and all his body's been through."

Ziva nodded. "I give you six hours, then."

"Before what?" Cathy asked.

"Before he begins to complain."

Cathy smiled, and though there was sympathy in her tone, it was tempered with a healthy dose of realism. "Because of the trach, he's not going to be able to talk for a little while. Speech therapy will work with him to show him how, but they can't do much until the swelling subsides."

Ziva decided to be patient with the woman, mostly because Tony's care was in her hands, but also because Cathy didn't know Tony the way Ziva did. . "Oh, I assure you, voice or no, in six hours, he will find a way to tell you exactly where you can put that tube."

As it turned out, Ziva was wrong. Tony beat her estimate by forty-five minutes.


	6. It Beats Being Dead, But Not By Much

Tony awoke to find himself overwhelmed with the sensation that there was not quite enough air in the room. He wasn't suffocating – he'd had someone try to suffocate him before, and he remembered that all too clearly, usually in nightmares. It wasn't like when he'd had the plague, either. It felt like he was blowing up a balloon, but instead of being able to pause and take a breath in, he was stuck. Something buzzing was droning on in the background. Then, just as abruptly, it stopped, and he felt cool air on the back of his throat.

A woman – a very attractive woman – leaned down into Tony's field of vision and smiled at him. "There, that's done. Most people aren't very fond of the suctioning, but it's better than a clogged airway, huh?"

"What?" Tony asked – or, rather, tried to. His lips moved, but nothing came out. He tried again with the same results. It was just like one of his recurring dreams, the less than pleasant ones. In those dreams, something was always going on, something important, and Tony tried to warn people about it, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't make a sound. At least he knew he would wake up eventually.

The woman put her hands on Tony's upper arms. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I know it's frightening, but you're not going to be able to talk right away. You're in good hands, though."

The unpleasant thought dawned on Tony that he might not be dreaming this time. He remembered the explosion, trying to make sure Ziva was clear, blinding pain in his neck and the struggle to breathe. Then strong hands holding his arms at his side, a voice...Ziva's voice... _"Tony, calm down. We're trying to help."_ Everything else was fuzzy. Actually, he felt kind of fuzzy at the moment. His neck was sore, but it didn't hurt like before. An annoyance, instead of agony.

Painkillers. It had to be. He always felt like this when he had serious painkillers in his system.

Tony focused his eyes on the woman's face. She smiled. "My name's Isabelle."

Tony automatically tried to respond by introducing himself, but again his lips produced soundless words.

Isabelle's smile widened. "All right, Tony, now we've properly met."

Tony frowned, confused. How had she understood him.

Isabelle shrugged. "I'm pretty good at lipreading. I knew your name from your chart, but it's nice to know what you like to be called. I'm your nurse for today. You were awake earlier, but you were still pretty sedated. Do you remember any of it?"

Tony shook his head. As he did, he became aware of something that was itching his nose and stuck to his cheek. He reached up to grab it, but Isabelle caught his wrist.

"Yeah, that's what I was about to fill you in on." Her voice was amused, but kind. "It's called an NG tube. You're not swallowing very well because of the swelling in your neck and throat, so you need that. I know it's not pleasant, but if you could not pull it out again, I'd really appreciate it. Your night nurse had a hard time getting a new one back in place earlier." Her eyes sparkled, and she leaned forward to tell Tony in a low tone, "You totally get style points, though. A lot of people pull them out, but Mike said he never had anyone crumple it up and aim for the trashcan. You might have made it if it hadn't unraveled as soon as you released it."

Tony remembered nothing of that, but he had to admit it sounded like something he might do. _Too bad I can't tell her about basketball at OSU._ He flashed her a winning smile, and tried for a flirty chuckle. He almost made it, but the air rushed into his throat and then...back out again? _Oh, hell, no._ He remembered feeling something stuck in his throat. It was gone now, but they couldn't have stitched up the hole? How was that even possible? He reached up his hand to explore, and Isabelle let him. There were bandages, and then a round plastic tube. He breathed out quickly, a sense of dread setting in, and felt the air rush out. Immediately, Tony knew exactly what was going on. _Hell. No. _He wasn't panicked, but he was seriously not happy. _They put a trach in me? _It meant so many things he couldn't do – talk, swim, work, and so much more. It was not the most attractive look in the world.

Isabelle put her hand over Tony's as he felt the area. "First of all, it's not permanent. It's only until your trachea heals up. The glass from the explosion you were in cut you pretty badly. And speech therapy will be in later to help you learn everything you'll need to know for day-to-day life. When the initial swelling goes down, you'll learn how to talk with the trach and you'll be able to eat whatever you can handle."

That was good to know, but Tony hoped Isabelle didn't expect hearing it would turn him into Little Mary Sunshine. There was too much he didn't like about this situation, though it was at least better than being dead, he supposed. Struck with sudden inspiration, he swallowed. It felt like the time he had strep throat, but he managed it. He pointed to the NG tube and swallowed again, as dramatically as he could manage.

It earned him a grin. "Nice try, but saliva's a lot easier than food. Speech therapy will give you a trial tomorrow with some puree consistencies and we'll see how you progress from there. You will get back to regular food, but I'm afraid it's not going to be today."

Lacking any more mature responses that didn't involve a sarcastic remark and not wanting to resort to particularly rude gestures, Tony stuck out his tongue.

Isabelle laughed. "You've got spirit. I think we're going to get along just fine."


	7. Visiting Hours

Isabelle had been a distraction for Tony from his predicament. She talked to him the entire time she changed his bandages, light conversation, only asking for yes or no responses from him. It hurt to move his head too much, but slight head-shakes and nods, Tony could manage. A few times, he naturally tried to interject something into the conversation, and again, it got him nowhere. Isabelle read his lips when she could and when she couldn't, she moved on like it hadn't happened. Tony liked her. It didn't hurt that she was easy on his eyes.

A large sign posted in Tony's room proclaimed that visiting hours in the ICU were open, except for an hour in the morning and another hour in the evening for nurse report. The morning ban ended at 7:00 am, and Tony wondered how long it would take his friends to show up after that. During her admittedly one-sided conversation with Tony, Isabelle had told him everything she heard from the night nurse – that Ziva was okay and the entire team had been there. Honestly, Tony knew he shouldn't have been surprised, that he could always depend on them, but childhood wounds ran deep and he was still touched when someone actually cared enough to look out for him.

Isabelle had left the room to tend to her other patients around 6:30 am, according to the clock on the wall, and once her chipper attitude was gone, Tony was quick to sink into his worries. He knew there hadn't been any better alternative, from what Isabelle had told him, but that didn't make him any happier. He supposed he was still in shock with a side of denial, and the pain medication was certainly aiding and abetting those feelings. He wanted to be depressed, angry, something. Instead, he was numb. And, frankly, a little scared.

At only a few seconds past seven, Ziva knocked on the door. Tony waved, and she came inside. "Hello. You look better than you did last night."

Tony was glad to see her for himself and assessed her with a glance. There was a bandage on one of her arms, but otherwise she looked good. He was relieved that Isabelle hadn't simply told him Ziva was okay to keep him from getting worried. She looked a little uneasy, and Tony wished he could offer her some reassurance.

After a few awkward, silent moments, Ziva spoke. "Tony, I'm sorry. I was the one who insisted we sweep the building from the top, after Petrov's trail led upstairs. If we had found the bomb sooner, I might have been able to defuse it, or-" She broke off as Tony held a hand up to stop her. "What?"

Tony motioned with his hand for Ziva to come closer. She did, steps at a time until she was within arm's reach. Once she was, Tony swiped at the back of her head, trying to get her Gibbs-style. She ducked and stepped back out of range. Even though he hadn't made contact with more than a handful of curls, Tony hoped she would take his point and not continue to heap judgment upon herself.

"Tony!" Isabelle frowned in mock disdain as she came back into the room. "It's not nice to hit your friends."

Ziva smoothed her hair back into place. "He learned that one from someone else. I doubt that Gibbs would appreciate you borrowing his move, Tony."

Tony gave her a look, thinking to himself that Gibbs probably would have cuffed her himself if he heard Ziva berating herself like that. It had to be a violation of at least a couple of the rules, though Tony's mind was too drug-fogged to recall the exact numbers.

"How is he?" Ziva asked Isabelle.

"He's doing pretty well, actually," Isabelle answered. "His vitals have been excellent, and the stitches looked great when I changed the bandages this morning." She popped a thermometer into Tony's mouth, and leaned in close to him conspiratorially. "I'm guessing this is your partner, right?" Tony nodded. "I'd hang onto that one. From what Mike told me, your boss had to kick her out of here around three am so she'd get some sleep."

Ziva's mouth opened and closed briefly. "Lies. It had to be much earlier than that." Tony guessed she was doing it for his benefit, to try to keep things as normal as possible between them, and he appreciated that. All the same, he was glad to know she had been there. He also would have paid to see Gibbs force Ziva to get out of there.

"No, that's about the time I remember it being." Gibbs strolled into the room and smiled at Tony. "Hey, DiNozzo." He then looked at Ziva. "What hotel did you bribe the cabbie to take you to instead of going home?"

Ziva's startled expression gave her away. "Who says I went to a hotel?"

"I put you into the cab myself," Gibbs said. "When I came by your apartment this morning to see if you wanted a ride, you weren't there and your car was." He was apparently going to let it go, however, because he turned away from Ziva, and came closer to Tony. "Now, you listen to me, Tony, because I only plan on saying this once. You did good out there. You leave the rest to me. Petrov's got a slab with his name on it."

Tony smiled, more at the praise than the promise that Petrov would pay. Tony knew it would happen with Gibbs on the case; he only wished he could still be helping. Doing something useful. He nodded at Gibbs and tried to lighten the mood by offering a thumbs-up. It was a piss-poor indicator of how he really felt, but if he could charm them, he would. It was the DiNozzo way.

Isabelle finished messing with the suction machine – fortunately, she hadn't insisted upon using it on Tony again this time – and looked at Gibbs and Ziva. "Since you're both here, let me ask you. Is he always a flirt?"

Tony grinned – guilty as charged. Predictably, Gibbs shook his head and Ziva rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Tony." Ziva waved an arm at him. "Less than twenty-four hours and you are already earning a reputation with the nursing staff!"

Gibbs chuckled. "That's par for the course." He patted Tony's arm. "I've got some leads to track down. Ziva, you stay here and keep him out of everyone's hair. DiNozzo, you stay here and do what they tell you to. I'll be back when I can." He waved a farewell and exited the room.

Isabelle's eyebrows rose. "Whoa. I don't know much about the work you guys do, but it sounds like Papa Bear is on the case."

Ziva smirked as she moved to slide into the chair next to Tony's bed. "Oh, you have no idea."


	8. Special

Ziva had taken up residence in the chair next to Tony's bed, and she didn't intend to be moved until the staff of the ICU kicked her out. She was grateful for Gibbs' thinly veiled kindness in "ordering" her to stay with Tony to keep an eye on him. Though Tony couldn't speak to her her in words, his expressions told her he was grateful for the company. Ziva talked to him, telling him things that didn't require a response or asking questions he could answer non-verbally.

For the past ten minutes or so, Tony's eyes had been growing heavier, and Ziva allowed a companionable silence to fall between them. She was trying to avoid mothering Tony, so she didn't outright tell him he needed to sleep, but she didn't really have to. Within a few minutes, he had drifted off, so Ziva resettled herself in her chair and kept watch.

It hadn't taken much for Ziva to convince the cab driver to take her to the nearest reputable hotel once they left the hospital, rather than her address as Gibbs had instructed. It was a cheaper fare, but all Ziva had to do was bat her eyes and promise a healthy tip. She knew how to use her beauty to her advantage when necessary. It had been one of many survival skills she'd learned during her years of espionage.

As she watched Tony sleep, the soft hissing of the humidifier for his trach providing an almost pleasant white noise effect, Ziva's mind began to wander. She had heard the story of Tony's battle with the pnuemonic plague, and how close he'd come to dying then. Ziva had heard how Kate Todd refused to leave Tony, even at the potential risk of contracting the disease herself. It made Ziva wish she'd had the chance to meet Kate. That type of loyalty was hard to come by. It also helped to understand, looking back, why Tony had such a such a difficult time accepting Ziva as his new partner. It was more than her connection to Ari. Tony was afraid to allow anyone that close again.

Ziva remembered the night that Tony had finally told her he had more or less come to think of Kate as the sister he'd never had. It was the last night of Hanukkah, two years ago, and Tony had come by her apartment to surprise her.

_"Listen, I know we've had our rough spots this past year." Tony smiled and held up a bottle of kosher wine – though he knew full well that Ziva was hardly strict about keeping kosher. "But, hey, it's the holidays. Peace on Earth, right?"_

Ziva had laughed and let him in, then laughed harder when he produced a dreidel from his pocket.

_"Tony, that is a children's game!" One that brought back many pleasant childhood memories for her, but she wasn't going to admit that just yet._

_"That's what the wine is for." Tony's smile turned impish. "Allow me to suggest the first ever Dreidel Drinking Game."_

Ziva wasn't sure that it was the first time anyone had ever substituted chocolate gelt for alcohol, but she had been delighted to play along. Eventually, they forgot the dreidel and settled onto the couch to share what was left of the bottle of wine. They'd talked, at first laughing together and guessing at their friends' Christmas plans. As it turned out, neither of them had any for themselves.

That was when the conversation grew deeper. The subject of their fathers – a sensitive one for each of them – came up. They had both lost their mothers too young, but at least Ziva had her siblings to bond with when her father buried himself in work. Tony had a boarding school.

_"Do you ever wish you had a brother or sister?" Ziva asked gently._

_Tony thought for a long moment. "Yeah, all the time when I was a kid. Now...I don't know. Kate-" He broke off whatever he was going to say, and stared into his empty cup. They'd already finished the wine._

_Ziva struggled to find the right words. She was always a little uncomfortable discussing Kate's death now that she had integrated into Gibbs' team, given Ari's role. "I think loving and losing them is still better than never loving at all."_

_"I guess you'd know." Tony's tone held no accusation. "I guess Kate __**was**__ kind of like my sister. She...she was special."_

_"There is nothing wrong with missing her," Ziva told him. "I miss Talia, every day." And while she tried not to talk about Ari, while it still pained her that she'd been forced to kill him, she missed who he had been when they were children. He had changed, and not for the better, but he had still been her big brother._

_Tony nodded. "I mean, not that you're not special. You are."_

_Ziva smiled. "And of course you are, too. A Very Special Agent, as you remind us all."_

Ziva had been afraid to ask if Tony considered her a sister, too. She was afraid he might say no, and she was afraid he might say yes. A part of her wondered sometimes if his flirting meant something, but she was just as guilty of that as he was. They fought, they played...they were partners. It was what it was.

During a team sci-fi movie night at McGee's apartment, Ziva had decided she and Tony were like Mulder and Scully. She had teased Tony with the comparison, and he had immediately pointed out that Mulder and Scully ended up sleeping together. She had thrown a pillow at him, and that was the end of that.

Ziva was afraid to let people too close, but she knew it was too late for that when it came to her friends from NCIS. Especially Tony. Whatever he was to her, he was first and foremost her friend. Even when they fought. Even when she was a terrible friend to him. He was always there for her, and she just wasn't used to that.

Tony stirred in his sleep, and Ziva put a hand on his arm to calm him. "_Leil menucha,_" she whispered, knowing he wouldn't understand the words, but hoping the intent would soothe him. It did, and he settled back to sleep.

Ziva knew Abby and McGee were planning to come by later. Tony would benefit from seeing them, especially as the two of them had been planning to introduce Tony to their favorite text-to-speech software so he could communicate. But, for now, this was her time with him, and she would continue to watch over him as he slept.

_Author's note: Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone! Also, for those curious, "leil menucha" is Hebrew for "sleep well."_


	9. Whatever It Takes

Gibbs hadn't been at the Navy Yard more than twenty minutes when his desk phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, hoping it was his contact calling back. It was Leon Vance.

Gibbs briefly considered ignoring the call entirely, but he knew if he did that, Vance would only come find him personally or send someone for him. Rolling his eyes, he picked up the receiver. "Yeah, Gibbs."

"I need to see you in my office," Vance said.

"I'm waiting on a call," Gibbs replied.

Vance didn't budge. "Now, Gibbs."

Sighing, Gibbs stood. After leaving instructions with McGee to let him know if there were any calls, Gibbs headed for the director's office. He was fairly sure that whatever Vance had in mind, he wasn't going to like it.

Vance didn't waste any time after Gibbs entered and the office door snicked shut. "The FBI wants the Petrov case."

Well, that wasn't going to happen. "Like hell!" Gibbs glared at the director.

Vance didn't seem to be impressed. He never was. "Petrov is wanted on money laundering charges, among other interstate crimes. Charges that predate any claim NCIS has on him."

Gibbs wasn't budging, either. Not on this case. "Yeah, and _our_ charges include murder and an assault on a federal agent. I'd say that trumps money laundering."

"I'm well aware of what he's wanted for." Vance was using the tone Gibbs knew Vance thought made him sound reasonable. All it really ever did was piss Gibbs off. "That's another excellent reason for the FBI to take this case."

"He put one of my agents in the hospital!" Gibbs argued.

"All the more reason for me to think that you're too close to this case." Vance met Gibbs' stare and held it. "Can you honestly expect me to believe you'll be objective when you catch up to Petrov?"

Gibbs crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll do my damn job."

"And by that, am I to assume that 'your job' entails seeing that Petrov isn't alive to face charges?"

Sometimes, Gibbs knew that Vance failed to understand the world was simply better off without some people in it. Vance also didn't understand that Gibbs gave every suspect the chance to face their charges. Some just refused to take it. "I'd say that depends entirely on him."

"Isn't getting personally involved in a case against one of your 'rules?'" Vance asked, a little sarcastic.

It was actually Number Ten, but Gibbs wasn't going to let that stop him. "I wasn't personally involved until he attacked my people. Sometimes you have to break rules to get the job done."

"Yeah, I suppose you'd know all about that," Vance muttered. He looked down to his desk for a long moment, then back up to Gibbs. When he spoke, his tone was resigned. "Fine. I will stall the FBI for forty-eight hours. After that, whether you have Petrov or not, the case is theirs."

"Good." Gibbs knew he could close this case in that amount of time. He turned to leave.

"Wait," Vance said. "This is conditional. First condition – you bring Petrov here alive."

"And if he chooses suicide by cop?" Gibbs asked.

Vance looked irritated. Gibbs considered this a minor victory. He had come to accept that Vance was competent and generally had the agency's best interests in mind. That didn't mean they always had to agree. "Plan on bringing him here alive. Secondly, if the FBI does take over, you will cooperate fully."

"Fine." Gibbs planned on having the case wrapped up before it came to that. "Can I get back to work now?"

Vance waved a hand toward the door. "Go."

Gibbs strode out the door and back to his desk. "Any calls, McGee?" he asked.

McGee shook his head. "No, Boss. Is everything okay with the director?"

"I took care of it," Gibbs told him. "Have you heard anything from Abby yet?" He never minded dropping by the lab to see if he could hurry Abby along or get preliminary results, but it did take time, and this case was now on the clock.

"She just called while you were in with the director," McGee replied. "Tire tracks found at the scene of the bombing match tire tracks found near our dead Marines – which match a car registered to one of Petrov's aliases."

"Good." Gibbs thumbed through his list of contacts again, keeping an eye out for anyone else who might currently have their ear to the ground of DC's crime network. He had a man to catch, and he wouldn't quit until his job was done.


	10. Still Obnxious, Free of Charge

Tony yawned and reached up to rub the sleep out of his eyes as he awoke, a little surprised to find the movement took very little effort. Stretching his neck was simply not going to happen, and his voice was broken – temporarily, he tried to remind himself – but the rest of him was relatively intact.

Tony never really realized how much he relied on wisecracks and film references with varying degrees of appropriateness until he couldn't talk. Even when he'd had laryngitis, when he shouldn't have been talking, he still managed it – then just used his most sheepish expression when shushed. His favorite coping mechanisms had been taken away, and he was stuck with a lot of time to think.

Ziva was still there, and Tony was mildly disappointed to find that she hadn't fallen asleep. While _he_ had been sleeping, someone left a notepad and pencil on the nightstand, just within his reach. Tony figured it was better than nothing, but he was also sorely tempted to find out how Ziva's ninja reflexes would handle a paper ball missile. It wouldn't be half as fun if she were awake, though.

Even though she was awake, Ziva looked a million miles away, and Tony knew something had to be bugging her. They needed to talk, but since that was likely going to involve him teasing and poking at her until she finally gave in and told him what was on her mind, a real conversation would have to wait. In the meantime, Tony would have to settle for his second-best option: the paper ball missile.

Ziva turned as Tony crumpled up the sheet of paper he'd torn off the pad. "You know, that was meant to be used for communication, not reliving your basketball glory days. Besides, the trashcan is at too much of an angle. You would never make the shot."

_Perfect. She suspects nothing._ Tony grinned at her, then pretended to line up his shot to the trashcan. At the last second, he changed trajectory and threw the paper ball, aiming for the side of Ziva's head.

Ziva turned and caught the ball with lightning speed. "How very mature, Tony." She took a shot for the trashcan as well, but her aim with a weapon was better. The ball stayed on course, but fell short of its goal. Ziva calmly rose from her chair and put the paper in the trash, then resumed her position at Tony's side. It gave Tony a warm, fuzzy feeling that she'd stayed with him, though he'd have done the same for her in a heartbeat, but even if he could speak, he wouldn't have admitted to that. He and Ziva played a game, each move carefully thought out. They harassed each other, flirted shamelessly, and they had each other's backs. But admitting real affection in so many words was expressly against the rules. Actions spoke louder than words.

There had been low points for them, but the good outweighed the bad. They treated each other like crap on occasion, but they always made up eventually and didn't speak of it again. Tony had his sore spots and Ziva had hers, but they tried to avoid those most of the time. The rest of the time...well, they were human.

Somehow, the thought of not being able to speak always reminded Tony of the time he, Ziva, and McGee had spent at a camp in the woods of southern Virginia. It was one of those "togetherness" camps that had become legendary among NCIS agents; everyone supposedly got sent to one eventually. The point of it was supposed to teach teamwork and creative solutions. For agents who already excelled at that, it was three days of saccharine frustration. Tony thought the exercises would have been excellent for some people, assuming those people were twelve year olds.

During one of the exercises, Tony had been accused of having too many ideas, so the leader had muted him with a blindfold around the mouth. The point was supposedly to let other, quieter, agents volunteer solutions. A couple did. The rest of the time, the group looked to Tony despite the gag and he had to attempt to communicate his ideas with gestures.

Tony grabbed the pencil and notepad and wrote, _"Remember Camp Happy-Crappy?"_ It had taken him about four hours to assign the camp a nickname. McGee and Ziva found it fitting, and so it had stuck.

Ziva's laugh came out as more of a snort. "As if I could forget." She cocked her head for a moment, assessing Tony, and then she got it. "And here you are, muted again."

Tony nodded and wrote, _"At least there aren't any wolves this time." _One of the scenarios had involved the group being pursued by an imaginary pack of wolves and needing to escape. Ziva had suggested they shoot the wolves, which had outraged Agent Castile, an animal lover.

Ziva smiled. "Yes, at least there is that."

Tony was trying to think of something witty to say when there was a knock at the door. He turned and smiled when he saw Abby.

"Tony!" Abby hurried in, setting a laptop down at the foot of the bed, then gave Tony a gentler version of one of her enthusiastic hugs. When she straightened up, she waved at Ziva. "Hey, Ziva."

"Hello." Ziva returned the wave.

Abby looked at the pad of paper that was now on Tony's lap, and her smile widened. "Oh, I've got something even better than that for you." She picked up the laptop, and handed it to Tony. "Text-to-speech software. McGee and I set it all up, so you just have to type and it'll say whatever you want. He wanted to come, too, but he's helping Gibbs with a case."

Tony didn't have to ask which case; knowing Gibbs, he already knew it was about Petrov. He opened the laptop and quickly found the software. Despite professing ignorance when it was convenient, he did know a thing or two about computers. When the text box popped up, he typed in an experimental sentence. There was a brief pause after he clicked "Enter," before a feminine voice said, "Say hello to my little friend." It was stilted, like the computer voices in some YouTube videos Tony had watched, but it worked. Tony was surprised by the voice, however. He typed again, smiling at the computer's awkward diction. "It's a chick?"

Abby laughed. "That's Beth, the default voice."

Ziva poked Tony's shoulder. "And that is what you are going to sound like for the next few days."

"I feel pretty," Beth said at Tony's command.

"Oh, there's others." Abby sat down on the edge of the bed, pointing to the corner of the screen. "McGee downloaded a bunch more. Go where that little microphone is, and you can pick whatever you want. We even put in Darth Vader."

Tony grinned, and immediately searched the drop-down menu for the Vader voice. He typed in, _ Luke, I am your father_, but then paused. Too expected. He erased it, then had it say, "I feel pretty," again. It did, complete with Darth Vader's voice, computer intonation, and pauses for heavy breathing. Tony laughed soundlessly as Abby giggled.

Ziva shook her head, but it didn't hide her smile. "Now that he has a new toy, I suspect it will keep him occupied the rest of the day."

She was pretty much right about that. The next day, however, would be a different story.


	11. After Hours

He was pretty sure of it while a Marine, but it only took Gibbs a few months working with NIS to confidently that "crime never sleeps," was _not_ simply a metaphor for the never-ending job of law enforcement. Criminals kept odd hours, and so did Gibbs, if it meant he made his arrest.

As a slim, feminine figure approached the cafe Gibbs and McGee were parked outside of, Gibbs stepped out of the car. He recognized her from the photographs. Valeria Petrova, sister to Dmitri Petrov. Valeria had a lot of contact with law enforcement. She was known to be bitter over not getting a fifty-fifty split of the family money in her father's will. While she was always hard to find and never anyone's official contact – due to the fact that Dmitri would probably kill her in a heartbeat – her leads were known to prove useful.

Gibbs assessed Valeria in a glance, keeping a particular eye out for weapons. She was carrying a gun, but it was holstered at her waist. Gibbs would allow her that. If he were in her position, he would have showered with that gun.

"Agent Gibbs, I presume?" Valeria practically purred as she extended her hand.

Gibbs didn't immediately reach out to complete the handshake. He nodded toward the cafe, which was open all night, and walked inside, motioning with his hand for her to follow. "This had better be good intel, for this time of the night."

Valeria scoffed. "You should be delighted I am meeting you at all. My brother has a price on my head."

"Well, then let's not waste time." Gibbs leaned back against the nearest table, trying to look casual, but he was poised to spring into action if necessary. "Where is he?"

"If I knew that, I would have him killed myself." Valeria crossed her arms over her chest. "But I know where he has been – and that may lead you to him, if you are lucky."

"So?" Gibbs prompted.

"What, you think I come without a price?" Valeria asked.

Gibbs was hardly surprised. "How's fifty bucks sound?"

Valeria barely cracked a smile. "Pocket change, for what you are asking of me. I want protection from your agency. I have been playing this game too long, and Dmitri has more money to put behind his moves."

Gibbs nodded, relieved it was that simple, but he knew his expression would never give him away. "That can be arranged." Catching sight of movement out the glass door, he looked outside, immediately drawing his gun, to gasps from both the previously bored girl behind the counter and Valeria. He waved her back with his hand. "Stay here."

Gibbs slipped outside in stealth mode, grateful the cafe owners didn't make use of those obnoxious jingle bells on the door. McGee was caught halfway out of the sedan they'd come in, one hand raised, the other hovering over his holstered weapon. Petrov was standing with a gun aimed at McGee's head, and Gibbs was sorely tempted to shoot him on site. He was standing too close to McGee, though. Gibbs had no doubts about his aim, but bodies didn't always stop bullets. "Drop it."

Petrov barely blinked as he glanced behind him. "If your finger even tenses on that trigger, I will pull mine. Are you willing to make that sacrifice?"

Obviously, Petrov had underestimated his foes. Gibbs stood his ground. "Oh, you won't see anything before it hits you. Put the gun down now."

"You would never risk your agent that way." Obviously, Petrov knew something about the physics of bullets, either that, or he was still trying to play Gibbs. Either way, it wouldn't work. "I saw you with that _suka_. She is not as smart as she thinks she is. I followed her. You bring her out here and give her to me and I let this one go."

"Not gonna happen." Gibbs wished he had more agents to move in and surround Petrov, but he was looking at the reason why Tony and Ziva weren't there.

Gibbs hadn't let Ziva stay with Tony simply to be nice. He wanted someone there with Tony, given the severity of the injuries he was waking up to. Besides, Ziva had lost blood, and a day to recover wouldn't hurt her. She could work past the distraction if she were on duty – Gibbs was sure of his people – but agents working past distractions were still not one hundred percent.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs could see Valeria drawing her weapon, and coming toward the door. He cursed silently. Why couldn't people ever stay put when he told them to? If she was trying not to get herself killed, she was certainly doing a lousy job of it.

Petrov saw it, too, and swung his gun around instantly, kicking McGee in the knee before he did. McGee bounced right back up despite that, his gun in his hand in seconds. Gibbs shot Petrov in the knee as soon as McGee was clear. Petrov stumbled forward, and McGee tackled him, securing the gun immediately.

"Weapon's clear!" McGee called, pulling his handcuffs out of his pocket smoothly and applying them to Petrov's wrists.

"Good work." Gibbs nodded approvingly, and spun on Valeria. "Why the hell didn't you stay where I told you to?"

Valeria was barely fazed. Of course, in a family like hers, there was probably a lot of yelling. "I had hoped it would distract him. Obviously, it did. Our deal is still on, correct? You have your man and I still have my enemies."

That much was clear, from the Russian obscenities Petrov was shouting. "Yeah, you've got your protection."

"Good." Valeria batted her eyes at Gibbs. "What about the fifty dollars?"

Gibbs shook his head as he turned away. "You'd have gotten that if you stayed when I told you to."

_Author's note: To those craving Gibbs/Tony time, I promise it will be in the next chapter. The Gibbs in my head would not rest until Petrov was caught. Sorry it was a little anticlimactic. I've been trying for three days to write this chapter – I'm a lot better with relationships than Russian crime lords. :) Happy New Year! May 2012 be your best yet._


	12. Handle with Care

_Author's note: Sorry about the delay in posting. My brain got kidnapped by other ideas for a few days._

Gibbs had taken great pleasure in returning Petrov to the Navy Yard with plenty of time to spare on his forty-eight hour deadline. Vance had hassled him somewhat about shooting Petrov, but agreed that it was justified and there were worse places than the leg to have gone for. With that business out of the way, as soon as he was done with his portion of the interrogation, Gibbs headed to the hospital. He wanted to see Tony, and he figured Ziva would do well with a little relief.

Gibbs didn't expect to find Ziva in the waiting room when he arrived, restlessly flipping through a magazine. She was clearly less than pleased, and Gibbs suspected she had been made to leave the room for some medical procedure or another. "Hey, Ziva."

She looked up, quickly covering her surprise with a neutral look. "Gibbs! Hello."

"They kick you out?" Gibbs guessed, sitting down in the chair across from her.

"No." Ziva's voice was even, but perturbed nonetheless. "It would seem that the cat has hit the fan."

"It's 'shit,' not 'cat,'" Gibbs told her, almost automatically. Ziva's grasp of idioms was getting better, but she still didn't have it quite right. Not that Gibbs was one to say anything. He'd had to leave in order to protect his life after accidentally insulting a group of thugs in a Mexican bar one night.

"Oh. That makes more sense." Ziva nodded. "I had always thought that sounded somewhat cruel."

Gibbs shook his head. "At the moment, Ziva, I'm less interested in cruelty to animals and more interested in why the room is getting sprayed."

Ziva nodded again. "Yes, of course. I think the sense of numbness is wearing off for Tony. He has been quite irritable this morning. Frustrated, I think. I let him chase me off for now, hoping he would calm down. Frankly, I would prefer it if he could just yell and get it out in the air, but obviously, that is part of the problem."

Gibbs had seen this coming. Tony vented through wisecracks and movie references. Gibbs knew that McGee and Abby had collaborated on some kind of computer communication thing, but that wasn't the same as a conversation. There was no way a computer was going to be able to replace Tony's voice. "I'll try to talk to him."

"I think that would be good idea," Ziva said. "He always seems to listen to you."

Gibbs chuckled. "Not always, but often enough." He rose, nodding to Ziva, and made his way to Tony's room. The staff, usually omnipresent, seemed to be making themselves scarce, and that was fine with Gibbs unless he needed someone. It only slowed him down having to explain himself to five people along the way.

When he walked into Tony's room, he was met with a death glare, followed by mild surprise. Tony's posture relaxed slightly, and he reached up a hand to wave at Gibbs.

"Hi, Tony." Gibbs waved back, and moved to stand at the foot of the bed. A laptop was sitting on the bed next to Tony, screen dark. "I see Abby and McGee brought you their new toy."

Tony shrugged slightly, rolling his eyes.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows at Tony. "Really? I thought you'd be driving everyone within earshot nuts with that thing by now."

Tony tapped at the keyboard and the screen came to life. He typed something, and the computer said, "_If I wanted to sound like this all day._" It sounded stilted and awkward, like Gibbs would expect a talking computer to sound.

"I see your point." Gibbs smiled. "Too bad you never let Abby teach you sign language. It's a lot more natural." He expected Tony to make a rude gesture in response, and when it didn't happen, Gibbs got a sense of how Tony must have been feeling. There was no playfulness when he was presented with an opening, and his posture was tense. Angry. Everything he had a right to feel. "You'll be glad to know we got Petrov. The director wasn't too happy about him getting shot along the way, but he's alive to face charges."

Tony nodded – gingerly, it looked like. The trach was still nestled in a swathe of bandages, but they didn't seem quite as bulky as they had the last time Gibbs saw Tony. The tube that went into his nose was gone, too.

"How's your pain?" Gibbs asked. The last time Tony had been on painkillers, he had been in an extraordinarily good mood while they were in his system. Tony was known to resist taking meds sometimes, and Gibbs didn't exactly have the sort of history that let him preach about such things, but he didn't want Tony to be in pain if something could be done about it.

Tony made a so-so gesture with his hand. He gestured toward the IV, which had one of those patient-controlled pain medication delivery systems.

Gibbs didn't know much about the thing other than that you pressed a button to get the dose, but there was a light on the front of the machine that said the next dose was ready. "This is not the time to be a hero, DiNozzo. Take it if you need it. There's plenty of time to be macho later."

Tony frowned, his nose wrinkling, and he looked annoyed.

"Well, if that's not it, then what?" Gibbs asked. "You're not going to get addicted in a day."

Tony shook his head slowly, then winced. He raised a hand to touch the side of his neck, then sighed audibly and picked up the button attached to the pump, pressing it.

Gibbs nodded approvingly. "You'll thank yourself later for that." He wasn't used to this, being the one to run the conversation, but he could step up to the plate. For his team, always. "If you're going to be pissed off at anyone, be pissed off at me. I'm the one who signed the papers while you were in surgery."

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it, and looked at the computer reluctantly. He pulled it closer and typed. "_Ziva said you didn't have a choice._" It horribly mangled Ziva's name, and Tony looked like he didn't know whether to be amused or irritated.

"There wasn't much of one," Gibbs agreed, "but that doesn't mean you don't have a right to get upset." He remembered a long-ago meeting for NCIS team leaders, where the counselor had advised them to give their team members permission to experience their emotions. Gibbs had written it off as part of the touchy-feely mumbo-jumbo the lady had been spouting the whole time, but sometimes, the concept had merit. Sometimes his people needed to know that it was okay for them not to be okay. As long as it didn't get in the way of their work – and Tony wasn't going to be back at work for awhile. Gibbs pushed his team hard, but he never asked the impossible of them. They only thought he did, when they weren't realizing their true potential. "I've been laid up before, remember? It was irritating as hell." Gibbs glanced at a discarded tray on the bedside table, which had the remnants of some kind of puree. It looked awful, and Gibbs doubted it tasted any better. "The food's crap, for one thing."

Tony nodded – slowly, again, but he seemed to be able to manage that okay. He pointed to the tray and made that rude gesture Gibbs had been hoping to see earlier.

Gibbs laughed, and stepped forward so he could drop a hand on Tony's upper arm. "Tell you what. You play nice here, and when the doctor says it's okay, I will see personally that you get anything you want."

Tony's eyebrows climbed, as he mouthed, _Anything?_

"To eat," Gibbs clarified before Tony's thought process could get too carried away.

Tony cast another glance at the pureed mess, looking uncertain, then dipped his finger in it and put his finger at Gibbs. He shrugged, then smiled – the little-boy grin that had charmed countless women over the years. Gibbs saw it as a sign of Tony's coping mechanisms beginning to return. He knew there was more than physical pain behind Tony's foul mood, but it was amazing how big of a component pain could be. With that taken care of for the moment, Gibbs could begin to work on the other factors.

"It's a start." Gibbs leveled a look at Tony. "Listen. I know you feel like you probably want to throw something – or someone – out that window over there right now. I'll let you in on a little secret, something I learned from experience." He leaned in a bit, conspiratorially. "Hospital windows don't open that easy." At Tony's vaguely disappointed look, he added, "What? You want me to tell you that it's okay? Fine. You have my permission to want to wreck this place. You just don't do it. You keep on not doing it, and eventually you don't want to anymore. It'll be easier when you can talk, sure, but you're Tony DiNozzo. You'll come up with something – and it'll probably manage to annoy the hell out of somebody. You don't think I keep you around just for your good looks, do you?"

The genuine smile that teased out of Tony was totally worth the admission.


	13. See 'n Say

Everyone was always telling him to be patient. Unfortunately, even on his best days, Anthony DiNozzo was not the most patient person he knew. He was even less patient when he was a patient. Tony's personal theory was that one should be allowed to screw the speed limit on the road to recovery. Sure, he played it up now and then over minor things, when his friends expected it of him, but when it came to the big stuff, Tony tried to keep his game face on. He would never admit it – not Tony, the attention whore - but deep down, he hated being coddled.

It had taken a few days, but Tony was finally able to see some progress. They'd moved him out of ICU and to a regular hospital room, and while they still wanted him to stick with soft things for awhile yet, the food he was being offered didn't look nearly as gross. It wasn't great, but hospital food was survival and little more as far as Tony was concerned.

The visiting hours were more restrictive on the regular units, and there was one supervisor who seemed to take great pleasure in enforcing them. Tony was doing well enough that Ziva couldn't really threaten anyone and get away with it, so between that and the fact that Ziva had gone back to work, Tony was left with a lot of downtime. The team was working cold cases now, at least until something major came along, so at least they were free in the evenings to stop in and see Tony.

Tony had already played – and lost – countless games of Solitaire on the laptop that McGee and Abby had set up for him, and he was contemplating something called InkBall, whatever the hell that was. The text-to-speech software's inflection was still annoying, but it was less annoying than not being able to communicate at all – and once he'd finally accepted it, Tony made it his personal mission to figure out how to use it to make the world a weirder place for those around him. Especially once he found the pre-programmed jokes. Apparently, the software's creators had figured people who couldn't talk would need some icebreakers. Even though the jokes were really bad, Tony found it hysterical to hear the computer reciting them in its monotone. Darth Vader had amused him for a time, as had some of the celebrity voices McGee and Abby put in, but Tony had eventually settled on a man's voice named Charles. He had a British accent. There was something awesome about a talking computer with a British accent. Tony had been disappointed when he had run out of James Bond jokes to torment his friends with.

InkBall was confounding, and Tony had learned from previous hospital stays that there was absolutely nothing of worth on basic cable on during weekday afternoons. Fortunately, a knock on the door saved him from having to find something else to do.

"Hey, there." It was Scott, the speech therapist that had visited Tony the day before. "I've got good news for you."

Tony perked up. That sounded promising.

"I just looked at your latest scans," Scott continued, "and they look fantastic. The swelling in your neck and throat has really improved." He smiled. "That means it's time for you to learn how to talk again."

That was exactly the sort of news Tony wanted to hear. None of the boring details about how well he was swallowing – he knew that; he wasn't drooling. He had tried to imitate the things he'd seen in movies a couple days ago, putting a finger over the trach and trying to talk, but all it had done was send him into a coughing fit. He hadn't tried it again since. His lungs were abused enough without any help from their owner.

Scott looked around the room. "It's kind of boring in here, huh?"

Tony nodded. That was getting easier since they had gotten rid of the thicker bandages. It didn't even tug on his stitches if he was careful.

Scott grinned and held a hand out to Tony. "Care to take a walk? The dayroom down the hall is deserted. It's no skyline view, but it's something different to look at, and the sun keeps it warm this time of day."

Delighted with an excuse to leave his room, Tony stood up and stretched. The hospital staff had told him he could have his pajamas brought in if he wanted to wear them. That would have been great, except Tony didn't think they meant to wear his boxers and a well-worn t-shirt. He had managed to bat his eyes and flirt with the night shift aide, scoring a pair of hospital scrubs, and he wore those. He had been to the dayroom before, yesterday, and it wasn't anything to write home about, but it was better than being cooped up.

Once they got situated in the dayroom, Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out a round piece of purple, molded plastic. "This little gem is one of the speaking valves we use around here. It was invented by someone who actually _had_ a trach, so it does its job well. The only thing is, some people can tolerate it and some can't. It requires you to breath differently through the trach." He leaned toward Tony, and slipped the valve onto the trach.

Tony wasn't sure what was supposed to happen, but everything seemed all right at first. He exhaled, and felt a little resistance. Breathing in was okay. He tried to say hello, and things went downhill from there. It triggered a coughing fit, and coughing was even harder with the valve on. Scott put a hand on Tony's shoulder, removing the valve with the other hand, and waited for Tony to recover. Tony scowled at the valve, trying to rile his anger up to cover his disappointment.

Scott patted Tony's shoulder. "Hey, don't give up just yet. Some people get used to the valve. We'll give you one to take home, just in case. But I have other tricks up my sleeve. We'll try this old-school. Cover the trach with your hand and see how you breathe."

Tony did, and though it required effort, he found it was tolerable. He'd done it in his room before, knowing from being nosy on the Internet on his laptop that covering the trach for periods of time was the first step to removing it. As long as he didn't do it for too long, he was okay. He let go to take a breath and looked to Scott for guidance.

"Now, you do it again, but this time, try to say something while you've got your finger in place."

Tony was skeptical, given what happened the last time he tried it.

"Done this before?" Scott guessed. Tony had hoped his face wouldn't give him away, but he nodded. "It might have been too soon. When you had all the swelling in the way, the air wasn't able to get through, and you need the air to produce sound. We'll try it again; just be gentle."

Tony steeled himself, just in case it didn't work, and covered the trach. "Um, hi?" It sounded scratchy, very hoarse, but it was his voice. He had to pause for breath afterward, but he'd actually been able to say something after days of silence.

"Well, hello." Scott grinned. "As you get used to it, you'll be able to say more in one go. Just don't plan on reciting the Gettysburg Address for awhile."

Tony tried it again. "No problem." He was elated with his own success. It seemed like such a little thing, but it was freeing to know he wouldn't have to depend on the computer until he was able to have the trach removed. The doctor had told him that would still be a couple of weeks, until his trachea had healed more. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Scott said. "Just don't get too excited and strain yourself. It's tempting, but this is still an unnatural way that your body has to get used to. You don't want to give yourself laryngitis."

Tony nodded, still smiling. On the way back to his room, he saw Ziva, Abby, and McGee coming down the hall. They picked up their step to join him.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Scott told Tony, waving as he headed off down the hall. Tony waved back, then smiled at his friends.

Abby quickly moved in to claim her hug. "Hi, Tony!"

Tony hugged her back, then headed into his room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached for the laptop.

McGee looked dubious. "You're not going to threaten to mail me a bobcat again, are you?"

Tony shook his head and held up a finger, willing himself not to smile. Surprising McGee with a threat from an old edition of one of his favorite geeky comic strips had been well worth the search time invested. He powered up the laptop, acting like he was going to type something, then covered his trach instead. "Surprise."

McGee blinked for a second before he smiled, the rare smile reserved for when he was happiest. Abby shrieked in delight, covering her mouth with her hands. Ziva laughed, grinning as well. It was music to Tony's ears. His voice sounded like crap, but he had it back. Things could only get better from there.

Ziva was still smiling when she moved closer to Tony. "I am sure you will be using it to drive us crazy in no time, but for now, I have never been so glad to hear you speak."

"Never?" Tony teased.

Ziva looked thoughtful. "Well, perhaps once or twice." She swatted Tony's arm playfully. "It is no matter. Now what will you do with your computer?"

Tony smiled, and hit play on the laptop with something he had found in his idle searching. Abby recognized the song immediately, as Tony had hoped she would.

"Ooh, Crüxshadows! I love them!" Abby clasped her hands in front of her.

McGee nodded. "Yeah, they play all the time at -" He stopped, and looked at Tony. "A convention some of my friends go to."

Tony gave McGee a look, raising his eyebrows. After all, how would McGee know the bands – especially one known for their goth rock – if he hadn't been there. And if it was the same convention as the YouTube video Tony had found, that place looked like Geek Mardi Gras.

McGee squirmed a little. "I might have gone once...or twice." He continued to melt under Tony's gaze. He always did. "Okay, I go when I'm not working the weekend it falls."

Tony laughed and filed this tidbit away for future reference if needed – but, then, if the claims of thousands of scantily clad women were even halfway true, Tony thought he might have to check the thing out someday. As long as he made sure McGee never found out about it.


	14. How to Smell Like a Ninja

_Author's note: For those of you playing the home game, this story takes place sometime in Season 9, before "Housekeeping." Also – at the time of this writing, it is a few hours before "A Desperate Man" is to air. So I know nothing, except what we saw in the preview._

With all he'd seen, all he'd done in life, Tony had learned a lot. Some of the most important things, he had learned from Gibbs. Among them was one of the unspoken rules: one could spend a lifetime building dignity, only to lose it in moments. Tony thought that one deserved a number, but Gibbs had been reluctant enough to go to fifty-one, so it was left alone.

One of those dignity-stealing moments came the first time Tony wanted to take a shower – and subsequently realized that he had an open tube in his throat that led directly to his lungs, so pouring water down it was probably not a good idea. There was no bathtub in the hospital room's bathroom. Tony had thought about persuading the cute night aide to give him a sponge bath, but that had more to do with his fantasy life than getting clean. Besides, he _really_ wanted an actual shower.

The nurse had produced what she called a "shower shield," an awkward piece of plastic that fastened around Tony's neck and kept him from inhaling water or suds. It was a useful item, Tony could admit, but it looked stupid as hell. No one he knew was actually going to see him wearing it, but he felt ridiculous anyway.

The device in question was itching the back of Tony's neck as he turned the shower on in Ziva's bathroom, the door firmly shut and locked. He had been discharged from the hospital that morning, but the doctor had wanted someone to stay with him the first night, in order to be sure things went smoothly. Gibbs had volunteered to let Tony stay at his place, but to Tony's surprise, Ziva commandeered that discussion. She had let everyone know in no uncertain terms that she would watch out for Tony, and he would be sleeping at her apartment. Normally, Tony would have taken the opportunity for lewd speculation, but he had been surprised and confused by her offer – demand, really – and had decided against it. He had gathered the bag of emergency supplies that the doctor insisted he must have with him at all times and had let Ziva drive him to her home.A shower had been his first order of business, because he knew they were going to have One of Those Talks – he could tell from her expressions – and Tony wanted time to gather his thoughts. He did some of his best thinking in the shower.

Tony went to grab the soap, and found an empty soap dish. There were, however, two bottles of body wash. One was bright pink, its label advertising it as "Raspberry Fresh," a combination wash and shampoo. The other was a generic bottle of men's body wash, no doubt Ray's. Tony actually had to stop to debate. One the one hand, Ziva's stuff was girly and hers and really kind of girly. Also, it smelled awesome. Ray's smelled like the men's perfume counter of any given department store, and Tony was not at all sure he wanted to end up smelling like Ray. Of all people. The guy treated Ziva like shit, letting her hang for weeks and sometimes months on end. Then he'd whisk her away to Miami beaches and expect her to forget about it. It got on Tony's nerves. Ziva deserved better than that. She deserved someone who would treat her like a queen _all_ of the time, not just when it was convenient. And then he would use his job as a cover. Bullshit. Tony's job required him to go deep undercover sometimes, too, and he never dropped off the radar entirely. Maybe a little bit, but never total silence for that long.

If they were going to talk that night, the last person Tony wanted Ziva thinking of was Ray. He squeezed a dab of the pink, raspberry-scented gel into his hand, and soaped up, hoping he had used a small enough amount that Ziva wouldn't detect anything. After rinsing off, he got out of the shower, with no answers beyond "Ray's a douchebag." It was just in time for Ziva to knock on the door.

"You have been in there forever," Ziva called. "Are you all right?"

Tony pulled the shower shield off and blocked his trach to reply, "I didn't drown, Mommy." He had a difficult time raising his voice, because most of the extra air required to do so leaked out the trach, but Ziva apparently heard him, because she didn't inquire further.

Once dressed, Tony walked into Ziva's living room and waved at her as he passed. She frowned and leaned forward toward him. Puzzled, Tony let her, then sighed when she sniffed him.

Ziva pulled back and cocked her head at Tony, looking amused. "Why, Tony – do you feel like...how would you say...a pretty, pretty princess?"

Tony held up his free hand. "Pretty, pretty _ninja_ princess." He took a breath before adding, "Who uses girly pink stuff."

Ziva laughed. "That is not saying much for you."

"I have a lot to say," Tony told her. "But if I talk too much, I cough, and there's snot, and it's gross." That, he had unfortunately learned from experience.

"Well, we would not want that." Ziva crossed her arms, but she was smiling.

"So we don't have to talk?" Tony asked hopefully.

Ziva shook her head. "No, we talk. But we can take time. There is no rush."

Tony yawned in the most exaggerated way possible. "Tired."

She didn't fall for it. "You are a very bad liar."

"Not specific enough?" Tony guessed.

"Rule seven," Ziva confirmed. "Here, sit." They moved to the couch, sitting facing each other, a cushion's space between them. "I know I have said this before, but it bears repeating. I wanted to thank you for what you did for me." With catlike reflexes, she caught his wrist before he could raise his hand to cover the trach to speak. "And I want to inform you that I am ordering you to never, ever do anything like that again."

Tony pulled his hand free. "You can't order me."

"Then I will get Gibbs to do it." Ziva set her jaw firmly.

"No," Tony said. "We're partners. Part of the territory."

"But you could have died!" Ziva protested. "For me!"

"Would you die for me?" Tony challenged her.

"That is different," Ziva said, her tone less certain. "I owe you my life as it is. Now, multiple times over." She shook her head and gave Tony a determined look.

Tony held her gaze. "You've saved me. We're even."

"No." Ziva's ferocity melted into...was that guilt? "We are never even. You...you came to Somalia. Even after the way I treated you!"

"We talked about this." Tony shook his head. "It's over." It had wounded him deeply when Ziva had been so quick to mistrust him. But he hadn't taken into account the way Michael had pulled the wool over her eyes – and more importantly, it had wounded him deeper to think of her being gone from his life. She was one of his best friends – as close to him as McGee was, but in her own special way. He harassed McGee; he flirted with Ziva. Tony had his own ways of showing love.

"How can it be over?" Ziva asked. "Just like that? I apologize and we do not discuss it again?"

"Pretty much," Tony replied. Whatever letting go of his own hurt he had left, he could do it in private. He had forgiven Ziva, and so he was perfectly content to let the subject rest. But old hurts stirred up other memories in Tony's mind – and, then, he had a flash of revelation. "Do you love your father?"

Ziva frowned. "Yes. But -"

"Me too," Tony interrupted. "And Senior screws up way more than you."

"I see." Understanding began to dawn on Ziva's face, then gave way to a questioning look. "Are you saying...?"

Tony cut her off with a finger to her lips before she could say too much. He was always terrible at talking about emotions. "Like Abby loves puppies."

Her face gave nothing away, but her voice was soft when she spoke again. "That is still a lot."

Tony leaned forward and slung his arm around Ziva's shoulders. "We're just like peas and carrots." The trach had made his Forrest Gump impersonation terrible.

Ziva smiled. "Now that movie, I have seen." Her eyes sparkled impishly. "Would that make you the mentally challenged one?"

Tony grabbed a couch pillow and hit her with it. Ziva grabbed her own and swung back. Within seconds, it was a full-scale war, which only ended when _both_ of them laughed so hard, they had to gasp for air.


	15. Rule Twelve Point Five

_Author's note: Some McAbby here. I couldn't help myself. But mostly Tony being...Tony._

Tim was inputting data on yet another of NCIS' cold cases when the elevator dinged and a familiar – if raspy – voice called out, "Honeys, I'm home!"

"Tony!" Ziva leaped up from her chair. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too, Ziv-ah," Tony said. The first thing Tim noticed was that Tony didn't have to reach up to block the trach to talk, a gesture Tim had become familiar with when visiting Tony over the past two weeks. Tony turned, catching Tim scrutinizing him. "Look, Ma, no hands."

When Tony stepped closer, it was clear that there was a cap of some sort over the end of the trach. "So, not to be nosy, but how are you breathing right now?" Tim asked, making an effort to sound casual. It had only been a couple of weeks, but it felt like forever ago they'd been in the waiting room, listening to the doctor's grim assessment of Tony's injuries. They _had_ said he would only need the trach for a couple of weeks, though. _Wow, he must be at that point already._ Put that way, it seemed like time had flown by. Time was funny that way.

Tony shrugged. "The regular way. Neat, huh? If I'm really good and don't suffocate myself, I get to have just a regular hole in my neck next week. I think the chicks will dig it." It was weird but delightful to hear Tony rambling again without having to pause to catch his breath.

Ziva, who had wandered over as well, swatted at Tony's arm. "It will heal and the scar will barely be noticeable. I have seen pictures on the Internet."

Tony raised his eyebrows and looked at her. "Trach porn, Ziva? Really?"

"Oh, you are impossible!" Ziva threw her arms up. "I am going back to my desk. Come see me when you can be older than twelve."

Tony chuckled as Ziva retreated to her desk. "Hey, McLonely. Guess what I did over my vacation?"

Tim turned back to his computer, pretending not to care. It was part of the game, after all. He and Ziva had both discussed missing Tony's presence, but neither would admit it to him. They had their pride – and Tony's ego needed no inflation. "Looked at real porn?"

"Nope." Tony crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"Tree porn?" Tim guessed.

"Tree por—what the hell is that? You are one sick puppy!" Tony backed up a few steps. "Geez! Some people."

Tim shrugged. A former girlfriend of his had found it hysterical. "Tree porn. Pictures of trees twisted together that look like they're...getting intimate."

Tony leveled a look at Tim. "Sex, Timmy. We're all adults here. Anyhow!" He held up a hand. "Since you apparently haven't gotten out since the Dark Ages, I might as well just tell you. I've looked into sign language."

That got Tim's attention. "What, you want to know what Abby and Gibbs say about you?" He'd wanted to look into American Sign Language himself, but he had never found the time.

"Something like that." Tony grinned. "Anyhow, since you and our favorite lab rat were so kind as to provide me with communication and entertainment during my convalescence, I thought I would repay the favor."

"Oh, really?" Now Tim was worried. Tony didn't do nice things for him in any sort of obvious way. "You're actually going to be nice to me?"

Tony nodded. "Yes. Just for you, when I return, no 'Probie' for a month. And that's going to be really hard for me, because I can't call Ziva that anymore, either."

"Never stopped you with me," Tim said.

"I didn't raise Ziva from a young'un." Tony grinned. "So, Probes, upon my return, you will have your reprieve."

Tim wondered if Tony was truly going to be able to contain himself for that long, but it was the thought that counted. A tiny part of him suspected he might miss it. "All right, then. Thank you. What are you doing for Abby?" Her, Tony could be nice to.

"I'm doing it now, if you'd shut up and listen to me," Tony replied. "You and Abby hang out, right?"

"Right," Tim said, growing doubtful.

"So." Tony made a gesture Tim didn't quite catch. "You go to the lab with me. I'll show Abby my surprise, then you can do this." He repeated the gesture. "She loves it when you get handy with her."

Tim rolled his eyes, but he knew how passionate Abby was about ASL. She'd grown up bilingual, after all, except one of the languages wasn't spoken. "So you surprise Abby with God knows what-"

"Crüxshadows CD," Tony interrupted.

"Oh, she'll like that," Tim said genuinely. "What, then I propose to hang out with her?"

"Well, if you want your own special moment, you can do it whenever you like." Tony held up a warning finger. "But don't ask me to show you again if you forget. Because I really, really had to practice this one. Some of the deaf chicks in those videos are hot."

From her desk, Ziva snorted. "Yes, of course. Only you would learn signs that involve picking up women."

Tony looked at her over his shoulder. "I don't recall there being any assassins in this conversation. McGee, did I ask for assassins in this conversation?"

No way was Tim getting into the middle of that one. He sighed, feigning impatience. "Just show me the sign."

Tony demonstrated. "You gotta watch the finger placement. Very important."

Tim imitated Tony. It was a pretty simple sequence. "Got it." He put his hand near his chin and brought it forward and down; that was one of the few signs Tim knew, _thank you_.

Tony shook his head. "Not following you. I told you, I had to focus my energies."

"On getting laid!" Ziva called out.

"I said no assassins!" Tony stood up and tugged at Tim's arm. "Come on, let's get to the lab before Gibbs sees you setting fire to Rule Twelve-Point-Five."

"Twelve-point-five?" Tim asked. Rule Twelve had never been his favorite. It had stopped him from turning his fling with Abby into anything permanent. That, and her lack of desire to get serious. And the fear of Gibbs if the relationship went south. Basically, a lot of things.

"The DiNozzo Corollary," Tony explained. "You should probably not hang out with co-workers you used to have sex with."

Tim shook his head as he followed Tony to the elevator. "That's only because most of the people you've had sex with want to set fire to _you_ later."

Tony punched the elevator button, shrugging. "Rules are rules for a reason."

As expected, when they got to the lab, Abby practically knocked Tony off his feet as she hugged him. "I missed you so much!" She stepped away and looked him up and down. "Oh, my God, and they capped your trach off. That is _so cool_!"

"One step closer to freedom, baby." Tony reached into his jacket and pulled out a CD. "This, my dear, is for you."

Abby took the CD and wiggled excitedly. "Oh, this is their best album. Thank you!" She hugged Tony again, more gentle this time, then smiled at Tim. "Did you put him up to this?"

Tim shook his head, perfectly content to give credit where it was due. "Nope. That was just his way of thanking you. Because he can't discuss feelings like a normal person." He braced himself for the slap to the back of his head that would no doubt follow, and wasn't disappointed.

"Anyhow, I'm out." Tony waved. "I need to go find Palmer and freak him out." Before either Abby or Tim could say anything else, Tony disappeared out the door.

Abby looked at Tim, smiling. "He's back."

Tim nodded. "That he is." He returned Abby's smile. "So, got any big plans for tonight?" It was a Friday, after all.

"Nope." Abby bounced over to her computer. "Not this weekend. Just quiet at home." She turned her back to Tim as she called up results, and he tried not to sigh. "Maybe I'll go visit Jethro." The German Shepherd had been too big and active a dog for Tim's apartment, but he had a friend in the Virginia suburbs whose own dog had recently passed. He wanted another German Shepherd, and the timing had worked out perfectly. Abby had been quick to obtain visitation rights, and everyone had been happy. Tim missed having the dog around sometimes, but he had also been told he could come over to play with Jethro whenever he liked, so it worked out.

"I've got an idea." Tim didn't say anything else, waiting for Abby to turn around.

Finally, Abby looked. "Well, let's hear it, Timmy."

Tim signed to her, initially pleased with himself, then concerned when Abby's eyes widened and she laughed.

"Are you serious?" Abby asked. "Like, seriously serious?"

Tim should have known better. He had trusted Tony to be nice, and he should have known better. "Oh, no. What did I just say?"

Abby laughed harder. "You asked me if I wanted to have sex!"

"Oh, my God," Tim groaned. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Abby, if I murder Tony, will you hide me when Ziva comes for vengeance?"

Abby giggled again. "Throw in dinner and I'll help you clean up the crime scene!" At least she was Abby, and she took these things in stride. Especially when Tony was involved. "Next time you want to learn Sign, Timmy, learn it from me." She reached out and gestured for Tim to give her his hands. He did, and she clasped them, then guided his fingers into a position. "Now _this_ is how you ask a girl to dinner." She signed for him, and he nodded and followed. "And this -" She curled her hand into a fist, bobbing it up and down, "- is how that girl would say yes. And _this _is how you say 'dog.'" She snapped her fingers and patted the side of her leg. "So what say we go out to dinner and stop by to see Jethro?"

Tim grinned. "Sounds great." Maybe Tony didn't suck at being nice after all. Creative revenge was still called for, however.


	16. This is the New Normal

Ziva had half-expected Tony's first day back at work to be dramatic, with the team getting called out for something big. Since the Petrov case, there had been a dry spell for the MCRT. Ziva knew she should be grateful, but it had gone on long enough that she was starting to get paranoid. But it had been another day of perfectly average case reviews and reports, which had at least provided them with the time to give Tony a proper welcome back.

Ducky had wandered up from autopsy – apparently, things were slow there, too – and had given Tony a look-over of his own. The trach had been removed, the healing insertion point covered with gauze to keep it clean and dry, and Tony's voice sounded perfectly normal again. Eventually, Ducky's assessment of Tony wandered off into reminiscing about a patient he had encountered once who used shoelaces to make the ties keeping her trach in place match her outfits, and the normalcy of it all was comforting. Also, a little unnerving, but probably only to Ziva, who had been taught long ago that there was no such thing as "status normal." There were only waiting periods between each crisis. She was working to overcome her unease and learning to accept and enjoy the times when there were no fires to put out, but it was a process.

The good thing about a slow day was that they had time for it to culminate at Tony's apartment for Team Movie Night. They had invited Gibbs, as they always did, but he opted to spend the night with his woodworking in his basement, so Ziva, Tony, and McGee crowded together on Tony's couch. After the first feature of the evening – _The Wrath of Khan_, which Tony emphatically insisted was the absolute best of the Star Trek movies, providing a rare moment for McGee to agree with him – they debated their next film. Tony thought they should go with a classic; McGee thought a light comedy would provide balance after _Khan_'s drama. Ziva was in the mood for a musical. And, so, from all of that, they ended up watching a DVD of Laurel and Hardy shorts, which satisfied "classic" and "comedy," and according to Tony, it meant, _"At least Ziva won't sing."_

Even though they all had to work the next morning, time got away from them, and the hour grew late. Tony had a spare bedroom, and so after some discussion, they agreed it would be better for everyone to stay the night. This wasn't the first time it had happened, and so McGee said he would sleep on the couch, leaving Tony his bed and Ziva the guest bedroom. Previous movie nights had been on the weekends and usually involved alcohol, so Ziva hadn't noticed all the little details about Tony's guest room. He hadn't so much decorated as left things that had no other designated place in there, and one of those items in particular caught Ziva's eye. It was a cute, fuzzy teddy bear, sitting on a shelf next to some of Tony's old sports trophies. It wasn't very manly, but sitting next to the trophies, it seemed like it had its own place of honor, and Ziva had to know its origins. She headed back into the living room. "Tony, why do you have a cute and cuddly bear?" She couldn't resist adding, "Do you sleep with it when we are not here?"

"Bear?" Tony frowned, then realization dawned on his face. "Oh, that's just Katie-Bear. Ignore her."

"So the bear has a name." Ziva grinned.

"Abby named it," Tony said, waving a hand dismissively.

"You called it 'her' before," Ziva pointed out.

Tony shrugged. "It has a girl's name." He stood up, waved at Ziva, and headed into his bedroom. A moment later, he poked his head out the doorway. "And I don't sleep with her."

McGee leaned in to tell Ziva in a low tone, "Only once that we know of. I'll have to show you the picture someday."

That, Ziva had to see. "I am surprised any photographic evidence survived."

McGee smiled. "Always have backups."

Ziva chuckled. Of course McGee would have kept a backup copy. "So, did Abby give him the bear?" Since she had named it, that would have made sense.

"No, actually..." McGee trailed off briefly, as if lost in a memory, then continued. "Kate did. She got it as a joke, when Tony was recovering from the plague. Abby thought it needed a name, and when Tony fell asleep with it one time, Kate took the picture with her phone."

"Oh." Ziva understood why Tony had evaded the subject now. Not for the first time, she wished she'd had the chance to meet Kate.

McGee patted Ziva's arm, as if he'd read her thoughts. "I think you two would have gotten along great."

"She sounds like something special," Ziva said.

McGee nodded. "She was, but so are you." He glanced in the direction of Tony's bedroom. "And Tony's said the same thing; he's just not going to admit it to your face. At least not yet."

Ziva briefly wondered what McGee meant by "not yet," but in the end, she supposed she knew. It was the same reason she danced around the matter, too. Maybe in time, they could discuss it like rational adults, but for now, their unspoken bond worked well for them both.

And, so, when Ziva found a stuffed cat dressed like a ninja online the next day, she immediately bought it and had it mailed to Tony. When the website asked if she had a message to attach to the gift, she thought for a moment, then typed, _Katie-Bear looked lonely._

Tony didn't say anything when it arrived, but the next time Ziva was at Tony's apartment, she peeked into the spare room and saw it, nestled next to the bear on the shelf, wearing a NCIS cap. Feigning innocence, Ziva glanced at Tony and said, "Oh, I see you have a new friend."

Tony played along. "Yeah, I guess the bear got bored and got herself a cat. Last time I leave my Internet browser open when I leave home, let me tell you."

"Yes," Ziva murmured, willing herself not to smile, "I hear that is dangerous."

And so they both pretended not to know where the ninja kitty had come from, or anything about it, other than it had come with the name Amelia – a strange name for a ninja, Ziva had observed.

"No stranger than 'Ziva,'" Tony pointed out.

Ziva crossed her arms. "My name means 'splendor.'"

Tony smiled. "Yeah, if only you could find a guy who'd treat you that way, huh?" He let that hang between them for a full three seconds before hastily adding, "Not that you should ask me for advice. I seem to keep attracting the crazies."

Ziva laughed. "Well, then. Perhaps if neither of us has a functional relationship, we can commiserate in our dysfunction together."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Tony agreed. "Have you checked out the new Italian place that opened in Alexandria?"

Ziva shook her head. "No, not yet."

"We should go," Tony said. "I hear it's great. And you _know_ how picky I am about my Italian."

They went, and it _was_ great, even though they had to get the food boxed up to go, because Gibbs called with the major case Ziva had been waiting on. Even though they had taken Ziva's car, Tony refused to let her drive to the crime scene, claiming he valued his life too much. Slowly but surely, things were returning to the pattern Ziva was accustomed to. There were things left unsaid, true, but the door had been opened.

As far as Ziva was concerned, it was about damned time.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note - Well, that's it for this one, folks - it's been a fun ride. Thank you so much for all the reviews, favorites, and alerts! I'm glad you've enjoyed this story as much as I have!<em>


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